


The Ineffable Bucket List

by bigblueboxat221b, IneffableHusbands95



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Armageddon averted, Don't copy to another site, First Kiss, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 07:10:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19224199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b, https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableHusbands95/pseuds/IneffableHusbands95
Summary: Now that Armageddon's been averted, there's something Aziraphale's wanted to do since the beginning, and Crowley might be just the demon to help him out.





	The Ineffable Bucket List

**Author's Note:**

> Our first collaboration! This was a lot of fun to write, exploring how Aziraphale and Crowley might relate to each other post-canon. We hope you like it!

When Crowley made the suggestion that Aziraphale stay the night at his place his intentions, for once, had been purely innocent. The angel's book shop had burned down after all, and he needed a place to stay.

Upon arriving at his home Crowley let the pair inside and threw his coat lazily over his shoulder, enjoying the wince Aziraphale made as it sailed to the floor in a crumpled heap while he made a beeline for his bar.

As he poured himself a ludicrously oversized glass of scotch he observed the uneasy way the angel was standing by the door, arms folded around himself and worried eyes darting about the room as though he was waiting for something untoward to befall him.

Crowley absently noted that the man somehow made even paranoia look beautiful.

“Here. Come and have a glass of that wine you like so much or something, will you? I can feel you catastrophizing from all the way over here for hell's sake Angel.”

Aziraphale sighed, anxiously biting at his lip. “Crowley I just still don't think-”

“Stop thinking and start drinking Aziraphale.”

When the angel's shaky hand finally accepted the glass and brought it to his lips Crowley sighed, pushing him in the direction of the lounge and downing his own drink in one chug as he sat down beside Aziraphale.

“Better?” he asked with a grin after several moments of watching the other man steadily drain his glass in silence, observing the way his pinched face relaxed a little more with each sip.

“Much, thank you,” the angel nodded, running a hand through his shock of blond curls.

Crowley found himself momentarily mesmerised by the gesture for some inexplicable reason. “Another?” With a snap of his fingers both of their drinks were once again full. “Neat trick I taught myself recently.”

“Yes, that is indeed rather impressive Crowley,” Aziraphale muttered, eyes distant as he sipped.

Crowley sighed. Aziraphale had always been a worrier, but this was something else entirely. “So, what with the world almost ending and all, I want to pose a question. If you could, what is the one thing you would wish to do more than anything before you died?” he asked, at the same time topping up their glasses which were somehow empty again. He was, he noted, starting to get quite drunk, meaning that Aziraphale was well on his way as well. He’d always been a lightweight.

The angel was quiet for some time, though Crowley wasn't sure if that was the result of contemplation or the effects of alcohol.

“Well, I suppose of all the things I have seen humans do over the centuries I have always wondered the most what it would be like to...kiss.”

A laugh of shock escaped Crowley's lips before he could stop it.

Was he serious?

“You mean to say that in thousands of years you have never..?”

The angel blushed and shook his head, hiccuping. “They seem to enjoy it. And from what I understand, the first kiss carries significant emotional weight.”

Crowley scoffed, trying to look cool. “Depends who you’re kissing.” He could see Aziraphale’s surprised look, and the question that followed was exactly what he anticipated.

“So you have…”

“Once or twice.” Crowley examined his glass – empty again – and tried to decide if he wanted to refill it or not.

Probably not. Might need some kind of mental capacity for this conversation. The angel next to him was fiddling nervously, rolling the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. The silence drew out until Aziraphale leaned forward, placing his glass on the table at the same time as he blurted,

“What was it like?”

“What, kissing?” Crowley asked, enjoying the angel’s discomfort for a moment.

“Yes, Crowley,” Aziraphale replied impatiently.

His cheeks were flushed, Crowley thought. It was adorable. He pretended to consider his answer, stealing looks sideways until he figured the angel’s nerves were strung as tight as they could go.

“Wet,” Crowley replied, drawing out the word and snapping the ‘t’ at the end. At Aziraphale’s cross look, he opened his mouth again. The answer that came forth was more honest – and less teasing – than he had intended.

“Look, it depends. Some people are terrible at it. They always seem to be the ones that want to do it the most, really. Doesn’t mean as much, though. It’s just what you do at the end of the night.”

“Really?”

“Well if some people are terrible, there must be some that are…not.” Aziraphale frowned. “If they do it so much should they not get better at it?”

“You’d think so, yeah,” Crowley replied, shifting his weight. “Doesn’t seem to work that way.”

The angel was silent for so long that Crowley wondered if he was going to change the subject.

“According to Nathaniel Hawthorne, a kiss can be transformative, if it is between the right two people.”

“Really,” Crowley said, allowing a healthy dose of sarcasm to dose his words. “That emotional weight you were talking about.”

Aziraphale missed the sarcasm and continued earnestly, “It appeared to have nothing to do with experience, either. Many of their characters are wholly inexperienced when it comes to kissing.”

“Are they, now?” Crowley replied skeptically. He’d never put much stake in literary writers, especially those from the nineteenth century. They seemed to spend all their time writing and not enough time kissing people to really write about it properly.

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered Crowley’s rhetorical question.

“Well, go find yourself someone ‘wholly inexperienced’ and have at it,” Crowley told him, waving one arm vaguely towards the door.

“Right,” the angel said without moving a muscle.

Crowley breathed for a moment, wondering why Aziraphale was still here – and why he cared. “You’re still here,” he said. “Why are you still here?”

“Well,” the angel said, his voice far more tentative now, “I thought that it might be a better idea to find someone wholly experienced in this field. The feedback would be more meaningful.”

Crowley considered this. “I thought you said the first kiss carries,” he enunciated clearly, “significant emotional weight.”

“Between the right pair, yes,” Aziraphale said. “I believe the emotional connection is a factor in those situations.”

Crowley, eyes hidden behind his glasses still, blinked a few times.

“I get the impression, Angel,” he said suddenly, “you’re trying to ask me to kiss you.” He’d twisted a note of humour into his voice, amusement he didn’t feel at this idea.

“Well yes,” Aziraphale replied, “I suppose I am.”

Crowley was not usually one to be embarrassed by anything; embarrassment was after all such a quintessentially mortal emotion, but he felt his cheeks redden at the revelation all the same.

Anonymously locking lips with a few insignificant mortals over the centuries was one thing, but this was his Angel. The thought of kissing him left Crowley reeling with an emotion he did not recognise, one he could not name.

“Well, I suppose we better get on with it then, Angel,” he finally answered after a long pause, clearing his throat. Though he had tried to keep his tone cool and nonchalant, he was not entirely sure he had pulled it off.

“Yes I suppose we’d better,” Aziraphale smiled, but failed to do anything more than squirm in his seat, eyes glued to the carpet as though even simply sitting next to Crowley was suddenly too much for him to bear.

Crowley found himself sighing. This was not how he pictured he would spend the evening after preventing Armageddon.

“Aziraphale. Look at me please.”

Crowley waited as very slowly the angel turned in his seat and dragged his eyes up to meet his own.

“Just answer me this one question. Do you trust me, Angel?”

“Yes” Aziraphale whispered, in a voice so reverent it sent a spark of emotion sizzling down Crowley's spine.

He nodded, shifting closer to the angel until their faces were mere inches apart, and he could smell the vintage wine on Aziraphale's breath.

“Good. Surely after all these millennia you must know you are safe with me Angel, and you always will be. My desire to protect you has always been rather ineffable,” he smiled.

Very slowly he reached out a hand to cup the side of Aziraphale's face, as though one false movement would startle him and the moment would break into a thousand tiny pieces.

Briefly he marvelled at just how soft his Angel's skin was, as though he were made of the finest heaven sent silk, not flesh.

Waiting a moment he searched blue eyes for protest, offering one last silent chance to call the whole thing off.

Finding nothing he tilted his head and closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to Aziraphale's in a soft, feather light kiss.

All breath left his body at the contact, or at least it would have if he had a need for breathing.

Very slowly he began to caress the Angel's warm lips, which hesitated for a moment before joining his in a clumsy kiss that showed his inexperience and earned him a few small hisses of pain from Crowley when their teeth collided more than once.

But the angel was nothing if not a fast learner, and within moments their lips were dancing in the most delectable, sinful of ways.

In a blur of motion he pivoted and pulled Aziraphale onto his lap, taking advantage of his audible gasp of surprise to sneak his tongue inside, bracing his hands against the couch on either side of the angel's head.

Both men swallowed up the other's moans at the warm, wet contact of their tongues, and Crowley found himself memorising every inch of Aziraphale's mouth as he licked into it.

He had never felt as alive as he did in that moment. The angel's mouth tasted of sweet wine, and his scent was a heady mix of old books, a forest after rain, and that cologne that he had babbled on about.

A small part of Crowley’s brain was surprised at Aziraphale's enthusiasm, but he soon pushed the thought away. He didn’t really have time to consider it too closely right then, given the lapful of angel his body had to deal with. Aziraphale's hands were firmly anchored in his hair, gripping tighter than Crowley might like, but the rhythmic tugs only added to the sensations running riot through his body. Satan below, he’d kissed his share of humans, but none like this. Enthusiasm wasn’t new, nor the male form; Crowley had needed variety to stave off the inevitable boredom over such a long existence, and he had lived through the 1960’s and 70’s after all.

But wild as they were, tempting souls in that era had barely required so much as a raised eyebrow.

This, though, this was enthralling. Crowley found his hands resting on the angel’s hips, holding him there as he tried to guide their kissing.

He clearly understood what Crowley was trying to do, pulling back enough to give the demon some room. The recognition that one of them was whimpering was making concentrating very difficult.

Aziraphale was making those noises he realised. Tiny sounds, kitten-like mewls deep in the back of his throat, as though asking for something he did not have the words to describe.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped as the demon tried that one thing he’d learned from the red head in that posh club in London, making Crowley's stomach do a strange flip at the sound of his own name against his lips. 

After a few more earth shattering moments of bliss they slowly pulled back, Crowley opening his eyes to stare into Aziraphale's.

It was more intimate, looking into someone’s eyes. Into his eyes. Crowley’s heart was racing, his lungs burning (what was it with these corporeal forms? Breathing wasn’t even necessary, and yet they insisted on going through the motions…).

Aziraphale sat very still in the silence, swollen mouth slightly agape and eyes wide. Crowley didn’t dare move either; the face looking back at him impossible to read.

“Thank you,” Aziraphale finally said after a silence that Crowley thought would finally be the end of him, his voice further away and more full of awe than Crowley had ever heard it in six thousand years. 

“It was my pleasure, Aziraphale. I hope that was what you were looking for,” he whispered to the breathless angel still straddling his lap.

Aziraphale's answering smile was the one that lit up whole rooms, the type that ought to have been counted as a miracle in and of itself. 

“I do believe that all along it was you that I was looking for, Anthony J Crowley.”

Crowley closed his eyes, pressing his lips reverently to Aziraphale's forehead.

In that moment he was sure a more perfect sentence had never been uttered.

“Angel I think perhaps we were always looking for each other. If only it hadn't taken us centuries to figure it out.”

Aziraphale laughed, and attempted to tame Crowley's mop of red hair back into place.

“We have all of eternity ahead of us Crowley. There is plenty of time.”

“True, but that doesn't mean we can't make up for the time we've already lost, Angel.”

“No, I suppose it doesn't.”

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley's neck, pressed his forehead to his, and silently promised to never waste a single second more with his demon for as long as they walked the Earth together.


End file.
